If Someone were writing my life story, those words would be unveiling themselves as a theme. So far, they’ve struck twice, and the second surfacing seems somewhat premature in light of the fact that the circumstances that surrounded the first proclamation continue to haunt me.
Be strong. My dad forced them out before I left to come down to Peru, and I kind of got the feeling that it wasn’t for me as much as it was for him. It is he who has to be strong, who has to be as motivated to engage life as he taught us to.
But they are the words that reappear in my life, not his.
The first time I heared the words, Meremere said them as I left one of my best friends. I’m not sure what impacted me more – losing a far-seeing confidant or hearing the challenge to be strong from a woman who experienced things more difficult than I can imagine – but I walked onto the airplane a changed person, and for the better part of two years I confused being strong with being desensitized. I’m sure that people looked at me and somehow thought that I was a strong person, but it is a weak person indeed who willingly turns her back on truth.
It took an aged book and the song of an imperfect king to make me realize that strength is found in the revelation of weakness, and that if we willingly open up to a God who wants to know us, He will not mock our ways, but mend our heart.
There is no king saved by the multitude of an host: a mighty man is not delivered by much strength. An horse is a vain thing for safety: neither shall he deliver any by his great strength. Behold, the eye of the LORD is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy. Psalm 33:16-18
There was a time when I thought that I was strong, but circumstances uncovered the whited sepulcher, and I’ve since discovered overwhelming weakness. Such an understanding has given me much strength, for in seeing my weakness, I have found His mercy. I will be strong, but not because I’m covering wounds. I will be strong because His blood rushes over those wounds, burning at first, but balming in the end.
So I hope. Not in people; not in circumstances. I hope in the weaknesses that He providentially gave me. I hope in His mercy.
Forgive my broken heart;
Forgive, and soothe the pain.
And I will watch the wound
until I can touch the scar.
“At least he ran in the right direction: ran back. And that is what shames me most of all. I, who call myself a warhorse and boasted of a hundred fights, to be beaten by a little human boy – a child, a mere foal, who had never held a sword nor had any good nurture or example in his life.” -C.S. Lewis (Sliding down may be the thing that lets you climb.)
